


like a river flows surely to the sea

by AndroidPalindrome



Series: take your whole life then you put a line through it [4]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I, Dark Souls III
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Dress Up, Dresses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gwyndolin is Genderfluid/Nonbinary, He/Him Pronouns for Gwyndolin, Healthy Relationships, Implied alexithymia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Surprises, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, based on fanart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-24 19:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20912594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndroidPalindrome/pseuds/AndroidPalindrome
Summary: It is on a moonlit walk that Gwyndolin sees the dress in a window front of a tailor and consignment shop. The journey of self-discovery, self-love, and recovery that follows is unexpected, but Gwyndolin is growing used to the unexpected twists and turns of his life. At least he does not walk his path alone.(Takes place some time after 'Throw Stars at the Twilight', but does not spoil the story outside of the obvious.)





	like a river flows surely to the sea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xxPariahsxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxPariahsxx/gifts).

> Author's Note: This little ditty is based on a lovely fanart of Gwyndolin by the fine folks that run the 'Only the Embers Remain' tumblr blog. Please check out their cool art and even cooler characters!
> 
> https:// onlytheembersremain. tumblr. com/post/188013093365/for-this-outfit-meme-do-you-think-you-can-do
> 
> Trigger/Content Warnings: Discussion of past relationship abuse; discussion of past emotional abuse; discussion of past child abuse; snake legs; Gwyndolin struggling with his alexithymia.

“ It looks fetching on you, Nameless Moon.”

Gwyndolin exhaled heavily through his nose as he studied himself in the floor-length mirror, turning his body this way and that attempting to ignore the dressmaker’s gaze, which was boring into his back like the late Dorhys’ gnawing insects. 

The dress was one that the Nameless Moon had seen through a store window during one of his insomniac walks several nights past, and he had been unable to get the garment out of his mind ever since. The base gown was made of satin in a shade somewhere between peach and tan, with sleeves that came down to just past his wrists, a floor-length skirt inlaid with tulle until it was just softly full (but still a bit too heavy for Gwyndolin’s frail body), and a sculpted and plunging neckline that made Gwyndolin blush if he stared at it for too long. What made the dress unique, however, was that it was every inch of the peach--from its cuffs to its hem--was covered with a layer of lace, which had been woven in an intricate pattern of flying birds (doves, Gwyndolin believed), which spread their wings against a delicate backdrop of spreading branches and thin-stemmed flowers.

Though it had been hard to make out the exact design of the lace on his nightly walk, Gwyndolin found--in the light of the gas lamps of a dressing room normally reserved for guests--that the actual pattern was prettier than he had first imagined, and there was something about the backdrop of white birds flying through a peach sky that made Gwyndolin, too, feel as if he was soaring.

If Gwyndolin was to wear it, however, there would have to be some..._ alterations. _

“ The peach of the dress makes your skin glow, ‘o Dark Moon, and the white of the lace goes well with your moonlight hair.” The dressmaker stepped close to the makeshift podium on which Gwyndolin stood. While it was obvious that she was trying to close a sale with the greatest client she would ever have, it seemed to Gwyndolin as if her compliments were truly sincere, and he hoped that she could not see his blush in the reflection of the mirror. “ What is most important, however, is what you think of it.”

_ What I think of it? _Gwyndolin hummed and fiddled with his sleeves as he thought of the best way to broach the topic. 

“ Would it be...possible, perhaps, to alter the neckline?” 

Gwyndolin’s voice was soft and hesitant in a way that was quite ungodly, but he certainly did not feel particularly godly in front of that mirror, especially with his face exposed for a stranger to see. Mercifully, the tailor did not seem off-put by his strange eyes or the scales on his face, even if she had blinked quite while when Gwyndolin first removed his hood. She also seemed not to mind just how _ timid _her god sounded...or, at least, was willing to ignore it.

“ Certainly, Nameless Moon.” The woman moved to stand at Gwyndolin’s right and smiled in a way that was deferrant and reassuring all at once. “ Would you like it to be cut a bit lower, perhaps? I know that plunging necklines are quite fashionable these days, but I had to show _ some _restraint, given that my clientele includes many members of the Irithyllian nobility! As I am sure you know, they can be quite the conservative bunch, oh ho ho!”

_This is _**_restraint_**_?_ Gwyndolin glulped and shyly diverted his gaze to what was apparently one of the more ‘modest’ necklines in the kingdom, which ended in a gentle curve just a few centimeters above his navel. While it was true that Gwyndolin did not have to worry about unintentionally exposing any cleavage, having so much of his chest and abdomen bare for all to see made the deity feel..._exposed_, and not in a good way. There was no shame in showing off one’s body--certainly not--but just having the dressmaker staring at his chest was enough to make Gwyndolin want to run and hide in his room.

“ No, no, that is not what I meant.” Gwyndolin gulped and released a shaky breath. “ I would like for thee to...bring _ in _the neckline, so to speak.”

To illustrate his point, the god grabbed the lowest section of the neckline with his thin, manicured fingers, pulling the plunge shut. The dressmaker’s eyes immediately widened in understanding.

“ Oh, I see! Yes, that is entirely possible, ‘o Dark Moon.” The dressmaker pulled a little notebook and a stick of graphite from the pocket of her sewing apron and began to scribble down notes. “ How high would you like me to bring the neckline, My Lord?”

Gwyndolin bit his lip.

“ Perhaps…” The Nameless Moon pulled the neckline together until it just reached the middle of his breastbone--where the silhouette curved broadly before dipping down--and nodded to himself. “ Yes, this height should suffice, methinks.”

“ Excellent!” The dressmaker pocketed her notebook and pencil, placed them back in her apron pocket, and pulled out a pincushion. “ If you are willing, Nameless Moon, I can start pinning the necessary alterations.”

“ Ah...as thou wishest.”

A great sense of calm washed over Gwyndolin once the neckline was pinned to the upper oblique angle, and as he watched in the tailor in the mirror as she busied about with her folding, fastening, and scribbling, the god realized that he could _ finally _envision himself wearing the dress, and it felt as if a million tiny wings were fluttering about his stomach.

_ I _ ** _like _ ** _ how I look in this gown. I really, truly _ ** _do. _ **It was a novelty that made Gwyndolin feel flushed and dizzy, though he made sure to show nothing but practiced neutrality to the dressmaker; he had shown her more than enough of himself as it was.

_ I wonder if Lorian will like this dress… _

“ Is this gown for an upcoming party?” The dressmaker’s question broke Gwyndolin from his musings, and the god turned his gaze down to the woman, who was pinning his hem so that it did not drag on the floor. “ These alterations should not take too much time, o’ Dark Moon, but I shall have to clear the rest of my schedule if time is short.”

Gwyndolin shook his head.

“ There is to be the annual meeting of the governors of the Sunless Realms at the end of this month, during which shall be a ball, as is tradition.” The snakes danced within the glamour of his false legs at the image of him descending the stairs to the great ballroom arm-in-arm with Lorian, clad in a dress of sunset peach and lace birds. It was not a pleasurable sensation, exactly, but it was also far from displeasure. “ I wish for thee to have the dress ready by then, if at all possible, and I shall compensate thee handsomely for thy time and effort.”

“ Oh, no--the alterations should not take _ nearly _that much time.” The dressmaker placed the last of the pins in Gwyndolin’s hem and brought a cloth measuring tape out of her apron. “ Along with a few necessary fittings, the dress should be ready in no more than two weeks, even if I have to contend with other orders!”

A shiver danced up Gwyndolin’s spine. “ That sounds agreeable...but I shall compensate thee all the same.” Perhaps he could pay the rent of her shop for the next few years on top of the standard fee for the dress...or, if she owned the building, he could send for some rare bolts of fabric from Drangleic. Either way, a dress of such fine quality deserved an equal amount of praise and appreciation, especially when sewn by a woman that did not flinch at the sight of his serpentine eyes.

A thought came to Gwyndolin.

“ One other thing, fair tailor.” Gwyndolin waited for the dressmaker’s distracted murmur of acknowledgement before continuing. “ I wish for this dress to be a...a _ surprise, _so to speak, so I would like the fittings and the dress itself to remain a secret between thee and I. When thou art ready for the next fitting, send me a message through the High Priestess of the Church of Yorshka, and I shall send for thee anon.”

“ By your will, Nameless Moon.” The dressmaker dissolved into giggles. “ My goodness, I had no _ idea _ that my day would be so _ exciting! _Who would have thought that such a normal life would allow me such a wonderful little adventure! To make a dress for the last god in the Lordran--how honored I am, o’ Dark Moon~!”

As the dressmaker pinned and measured and prattled on about lovely little mundane things, Gwyndolin stood ramrod still in front of the mirror and locked eyes with his own reflection, praying to every god in his father’s old pantheon for Lorian to find the dress just as beautiful as he.

* * *

The days that passed were mostly uneventful, yet Gwyndolin felt as if something momentous had occurred all the same, and it nearly drove him mad to keep the dress a secret from his friends and family. The subsequent fittings had gone without a hitch; the dressmaker was more than willing to come to the royal residence at odd hours during the night, and Gwyndolin was always careful to send her home with an escort and plenty of coin. He was careful to have the Silver Knights to remain outside of the residential wing while she did her work, and true to her word, the seamstress was apparently silent about what she called the ‘most wondrous and splendiferous project of her career’. The woman could be quite gabby in his presence--whether from nervousness or simple friendliness the Nameless Moon could not tell--but she was pleasant enough company to endure for those few short hours.

The dress took its final shape over the course of three fittings, and when the nearly finished product was placed on his body that third time--neckline altered, waist taken in, hem and cuffs shortened, and skirt lightened from the removal of a few layers of tulle--Gwyndolin felt as if he had pushed his way out of a cocoon and emerged into a world that was both foreign and familiar all at once.

The day after the final fitting, Lorian had come to him in the morning after spending the night with Lothric in their own quarters, a soft yet nervous smile on his lips and anxiety dancing in his eyes.

“ Is everything alright, Gwyndolin?”

The question came as Gwyndolin was brushing his hair at his vanity, and the god actually dropped his mother’s hairbrush in surprise, though he caught it before it fell to the carpet.

“ Why dost thou think I may not be alright?” Gwyndolin’s heart hammered in his chest as he turned in his chair to face his beloved, who was sitting on the side of <strike>their</strike> the god’s bed, his forearms resting on his spread thighs and his hands clasped between his knees. “ Have I done something that has caused thee concern, my stalwart?”

Lorian coughed and cast his gaze to the floor, clearly embarrassed, yet he continued to speak all the same. He did not even stutter, which Gwyndolin took as yet another sign of Lorian’s improving anxiety, and he made a mental note to tell Lorian just how proud of him he was later that day.

“ Ah, well...it is just that I overheard the Silver Knights talking in the barracks this morn--”

Gwyndolin grit his teeth and cursed under his breath.

_ Oh, damn it all to the infernal mechanism of Flame; even that gossipy seamstress can keep her mouth shut better than a legion of knights who are renowned for their silence! _

“--and they mentioned that you have had a late night visitor over the past several weeks,” Lorian continued as Gwyndolin internally despaired, “one that they have never before seen around the residence, and whose purpose in the residence they do not know.” The elder prince laughed nervously and averted his brown eyes from Gwyndolin’s gold and amber ones. “ I would not pry any further--for your business is your own, and I have no right to intrude in affairs that you do not wish others to know!--but ever since you went out on that last midnight walk, you act as if you are hiding a great secret, and…”

Lorian released a large breath from his nose and hung his head heavy between his slumping shoulders.

“...it sounds so silly, now that I say my fears aloud,” the Lord Commander mumbled, his voice just loud enough for Gwyndolin to hear, “but I just wanted thee to know that...if something happened to you during that walk...if you are in trouble in some way, or being blackmailed, or…” Lorian laughed bitterly and shrugged with an emotion that made Gwyndolin’s heart squeeze. “ I just wanted to...to remind you that you can tell me anything, and that I will not...not...not _ judge _you for anything. That is all. Forget I brought up such a silly and stupid thing.”

By the time Lorian fell silent, Gwyndolin’s throat was constricting painfully around an aching and white-hot lump of sweetness, and he wanted nothing more than to fling his arms around his beloved and kiss him senseless. Instead, the god used every ounce of restraint in his body to calmly set the brush on the vanity, rise from his seat, and slither over to where Lorian sat hunched-over on his--no, _ their _bed.

“ Oh, Lorian…” Gwyndolin breathed, the mattress dipping beneath his meager weight as he lowered himself to sit at Lorian’s right. The god wasted no time in leaning himself into the sturdy line of the knight’s body, and the snakes almost immediately curled themselves around Lorian’s legs, the sheer force of their host’s affection making them wriggle like unearthed worms. “ This is going to sound so terribly strange...but it is times like these when I am so incredibly _ thankful _ for thee.”

Lorian had clearly not expected those words, and he straightened and turned to face the god at his side, blinking in confusion. “ _ Thankful? _After I pried into your personal affairs and turned a molehill into a mountain?”

“ _ Yes, _ Lorian; in fact, I find myself _ immensely _ thankful for thee.” Gwyndolin gently cupped Lorian’s face in his hands and wondered if his smile was as stupidly happy as he felt. “ No one worries for me or cares for me the way thou dost...and in such a gentle and considerate manner, as well.”

“ Considerate?”

“ Yes--and not false concern that is designed to restrict, belittle, confine...all while masquerading as love and care.”

_ Not the concern that Sulyvahn pretended to have, _ Gwyndolin left unspoken, knowing that his dear Lorian would understand all the same. _ Not a chain around mine throat, which tightened with every move he considered to be incorrect or against his greater plans, until it very nearly shackled me in place. Not a knife carving away at mine independence and autonomy in the name of protecting me from my so-called ‘recklessness’ and ‘foolishness’. Not a jailer masquerading as a lover, who would not cease until he had convinced me to lock myself in a gilded cage, all for what he had convinced me was for mine own good. _

_ Nothing like that, my dear Lorian; nothing like that at all. _

“ Oh. _ Oh. _” Lorian breathed, and Gwyndolin could feel how the lingering, smouldering anger that Lorian felt towards the deceased tyrant roared into a blaze, making his brown eyes shine with an intensity that both excited and frightened the god. Yet the embers died down as quickly as they had burned, and the arms that Lorian wrapped around Gwyndolin’s back were warm only with love. Gwyndolin sighed and pressed his face into Lorian’s shoulder.

“ So...you are not offended by my concern?” Lorian asked tentatively. Gwyndolin snorted and gave the knight’s side a gentle smack.

“ Of _ course _not, silly knight. Now that I reflect upon mine behavior over these past two weeks, I have been acting somewhat strangely, have I not?” Lorian nodded, and Gwyndolin sighed and pulled back to look at his night, smiling apologetically. “ Forgive me, Lorian, for making thee worry so. I supposed I underestimated thine powers of observation...or overestimated mine ability of secrecy.” It was the god’s turn to chuckle and shrug. “ Well, no matter the reason, I apologize wholeheartedly for causing thee unnecessary anxiety, for there is truly nothing malicious or untoward about what I have been trying to hide.”

“ There isn’t?”

“ I swear upon our siblings.”

“ Oh, thank _ goodness. _” Lorian sighed and sagged in relief, seeming to deflate like a popped kicking ball, and Gwyndolin reached out to take his larger and stronger hands in his own. Oh, what a fool the god has been--sneaking about in the shadows and arranging secret meetings after dark, which--understandably--made Lorian assume that he had once more fallen prey to some peril. Gwyndolin would have been just as worried if their roles had been reversed! “ Forgive me, Gwyndolin...I know that you are more than capable of handling yourself, but…”

“ Lorian. Darling. As I said earlier, thou hast nothing to apologize for.” Gwyndolin squeezed Lorian’s hands before bringing them to his lips, kissing all ten knuckles before clutching them to his chest, an act that made Lorian blush and stammer adorably. “ In fact, once I inform thee what I have been keeping secret, I fear thou shalt be quite cross with me!”

Lorian cocked his head to the side. “ Cross? But why?”

Gwyndolin knew that, if he had decided to _ not _ tell Lorian of the dress, the knight would have accepted it easily. Yet the Nameless Moon already felt horrible for causing Lorian such unnecessary grief, and really...even if Lorian knew of the existence of the dress, he still would not see it until the night of the ball, so it would _ still _be a nice surprise.

Right?

“ The woman I have been inviting to the residence is a dressmaker, Lorian.” Gwyndolin released Lorian’s hands and watched as the knight, predictably, grew quite confused.

“ A...dressmaker?”

Gwyndolin sighed and folded his hands in his lap. Might as well come right out with it.

“ While I was on mine midnight walk two weeks past, I caught sight of a dress in a store window that I...that I thought would look well on me, especially for the ball.” It felt so strange to admit it to anyone outside of himself, and Gwyndolin suddenly felt as if he was a teenager who was admitting to having snuck out without permission, rather than an adult beholden to nobody. Why did emotions have to be so _ inscrutable _? “ I had the dressmaker bring it to the residence for me to try, and she agreed to alter it for mine comfort, although it took three fittings to get right.”

Realization dawned like a sunrise on Lorian’s face. “ So the late-night meetings…”

“...were dress fitting sessions.” Gwyndolin found himself unable to meet Lorian’s gaze, and he cast his eyes down in shame, nervously fiddling his fingers together in his lap. The snakes, too, seemed to writhe anxiously on the floor. “ Forgive me, Lorian; as I said, all of thy worry was for naught, and I understand if thou art upset with me in turn.”

“ Whatever is there to be upset about?” Rather than the anger Gwyndolin was expecting, Lorian sounded almost _ delighted, _and the god looked up to see an expression that, while still slightly confused, was also full of wonder. “ It must be an impressive dress if it has enraptured you to such an extent!”

Gwyndolin shrugged nervously.

“ It is a fine dress, to be sure, but...I wished for it to be a surprise to thee. I wanted thee to only learn of it when I put it on for the ball. Silly, no?”

“ Not silly at all!” Lorian’s bright and beaming grin never failed to make Gwyndolin want to kiss every inch of his face. “ Though I am sorry I made you spoil your surprise...and after all of your effort to keep it a secret, too!”

“ I guess we have both been a bit ridiculous,” Gwyndolin muttered, cheeks pinking up from fondness and embarrassment. Lorian leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

“ We certainly have...though there was no harm done in the end. I am certain I will still be surprised by whatever dress you have chosen to wear, and I swear that I will keep this secret between us. Although…”

“ Yes?”

“ I have to admit, I’m glad I did not learn about your plans on the night of the ball,” Lorian admitted, “for now I have to make sure I have an outfit worthy of your dress! I was planning on just wearing my armor the whole night, but now I have no choice but to make an actual effort!”

Gwyndolin did not wish to laugh at Lorian--he truly did not--but the knight looked as if he was planning a critical battle in a war, rather than choosing an outfit for a formal event, and the god was only able to gaze upon his beloved’s sternly stoic expression for a moment before dissolving into snickers.

“ Hey!” Lorian barked in mock offense, which just made Gwyndolin laugh harder. “ I should have you know that this is a very serious concern! After all, this is the first time I shall meet your governors, and I do not want to appear sloppy next to the radiance of the God of Moonlight...especially if his dress is anywhere near as radiant as he!”

Oh, how _ dare _he! How was Lorian so much better at flirting than Gwyndolin?! It wasn’t fair!

“ Oh, enough from thee!” Gwyndolin smacked his hand against Lorian’s side and playfully butted his head against Lorian’s sternum, an act that made the knight burst into laughter as well. “ Thou wouldst say I was beautiful even if I was clad in a potato sack!”

“ I cannot say that you are wrong, dear Gwyndolin; you could strip naked and roll in mud and I would still think you were one of the most beautiful beings I have ever seen.”

“ _ Augh! _”

Gwyndolin responded to Lorian’s absurdly romantic compliment by beating his fists against the knight’s chest, but the weakness of his strikes and the tears of laughter streaming down his face belied his faux anger, and he did not resist when Lorian grabbed his hands and held them to his heart.

* * *

The dress was the first garment that Gwyndolin, in his over six millennia of existence, had actually loved to wear.

When his mother, Ithil, still lived in Anor Londo, Gwyndolin had been too young to decide his own outfits, and she had dressed him in loose-fitting frocks that allowed for play and writhing snakes. When she left for reasons and lands unknown, Gwyndolin had just started dressing himself in the morning, and that brief moment of freedom ended the moment Gwyn shoved him into his mother’s wardrobe. The God of Sunlight never gave any explanation, but Gwyndolin knew from the start that it was meant to be a punishment--for both his mother’s abandonment and his being born in the first place--and Gwyndolin had accepted his penance like a true ‘daughter’ of Gwyn: silently, demurely, and prettily.

For thousands of years, Gwyndolin’s wardrobe had consisted of nothing but Ithil’s loose white dresses, long white gloves, and gauzy, gold-embroidered shawls. Even after he had forsaken his father’s will and established the Sunless Realms, Gwyndolin had continued to wear Ithil’s dresses, even though they had long since begun to fray and wear. By then, the Nameless Moon had spent at least three-thousand years wearing naught but Ithil’s garments, and he had never had a chance to develop a style of his own, so how could he possibly be expected to decide what to wear himself? As long as he remained in the tomb, he could continue to dress as he always had, and no one would be all the wiser.

Then, Yorshka was born, and Gwyndolin suddenly found himself having to figure out--for the first time in his life--how to dress for himself.

It had been surprisingly simple, really, to find just what clothing he felt comfortable in. Long, flowing dresses and robes were his favorites, with skirts that touched the floor when wearing his glamour, yet remained comfortable and loose when the snakes were released. He liked bell sleeves (which made it easy to hide any ‘undivine’ expressions during public appearances and official meetings), hooded cloaks (which kept him warm and hid his face when not wearing the sunset crown), and modest necklines (square cuts, preferably, but any that stopped before the middle of his breastbone would do). Despite having worn gloves for the majority of his life, however, Gwyndolin found he preferred to go bare-handed on most occasions (with exceptions made for frigid weather and more ‘formal’ affairs). Shoes, on the other hand, were worthless even _ with _ glamoured legs, and Gwyndolin would only ever wear shoes when forced.

(The day that he met Lorian and Lothric, actually, was the first time Gwyndolin had worn shoes in two years.)

Yet being ‘pleased’ with his way of dress wasn’t the same as ‘loving’ said outfits--at least, not in the way described in the books Gwyndolin read. The Nameless Moon could recall many an occasion when he, during his moonlit walks, had stopped in front of closed clothing stores to study their window fronts, wondering if he would ever feel anything other than aesthetic appreciation for outfits that everyone else seemed to love.

On (painful) reflection, it did not surprise Gwyndolin that Sulyvahn had so easily been able to manipulate that particular aspect of his life, given the god’s unformed and uninspired approach to clothing. After all, all that Gwyndolin had learned about dressing had come from reading books and observing others, so when Sulyvahn--ever so gently--informed Gwyndolin that the vividly-patterned brocade of his dress made him appear ‘immodest’ and ‘sloppy’, the Nameless Moon had simply taken his then courter at his word, and he simply moved all such garments to the back of his closet. Vivid patterns were followed by jewel tones, then pastels, then any robe or dress that showed even the smallest sliver of his shoulders, then any robe or dress with decorative embroidery, then bright colors altogether, then--

As Sulyvahn’s list of ‘ungodly’ clothing grew, so did his displeasure at such infractions, and it did not take long for the patriarch’s chiding yet gentle suggestions to morph into biting glares and cutting words. Whenever Gwyndolin dared to wear anything that Sulyvahn did not like, he would be met with a torrent of passive aggressive insults and cold avoidance, and it was just not _ worth _ the effort to fight him on such matters. It was far easier and less emotionally exhausting to simply wear something ‘safe’ than to endure yet another barrage of complaints about how Gwyndolin was far too unreasonable for his own good, and why did the god have to be so unbearably _ frustrating _ all of the time _ ? _It was perfectly clear to Sulyvahn just why Gwyndolin had gone so long without an offer of marriage!

No, it was not surprising that Sulyvahn had been able to easily manipulate the way Gwyndolin dressed; the would-be pontiff had simply opened the door to a familiar cage, and the God of Moonlight had walked in with nary a second thought.

Something had changed, however, when Lothric and Lorian arrived in Irithyll. A great many things had changed, really, but Gwyndolin’s habit of dressing had been one of the first aspects of his life to shift. It had taken only a week of Lorian’s companionship for Gwyndolin to begin wearing colors again--not because of anything the elder prince said or did, but because Gwyndolin _ wanted _to. Embroidery and intricate brocades once more became a constant in Gwyndolin’s wardrobe, and while the god had briefly returned to a ‘safe’ way of dressing upon Sulyvahn’s return from the Cathedral of the Deep, he found himself gravitating back to his ‘ungodly’ raiments again and again. Perhaps Lorian’s presence had simply made Gwyndolin braver and bolder; perhaps it was due to the fact that whenever Sulyvahn pitched a fit, Gwyndolin knew he could go to Lorian and swiftly regain his strength; or, perhaps, Gwyndolin had begun to value Lorian’s adoring gaze and honest compliments over Sulyahn’s cold glares and insidious barbs.

No matter the reason, Gwyndolin had returned to dressing in his usual fashion long before Sulyvahn’s treachery was exposed, yet even though Gwyndolin relished and treasured every time Lorian complimented his outfit (which, really, happened at least once a day), the Nameless Moon was well aware that he simply loved the way that _ Lorian _ loved his outfits. Actually _ loving _ a garment, however, had never once crossed Gwyndolin’s mind.

...that is, until that fateful late-night stroll, when the god’s life had once more shifted in a mundane yet seismic way. Perhaps Gwyndolin would one day get used to his life remoulding in the blink of an eye.

* * *

The dress had been delivered to Gwyndolin a week before the ball, and the god had refused to even open the box until it was time to get ready for the event, leaving the box bound with ribbon and hidden in Gwynevere’s pile of abandoned shoes in the back of his closet. It was silly, but he felt as if he would jinx the whole affair if he looked upon the dress before it was time to wear it--much like the Astoran fable of Tilma and the Box of Seven Locks.

Lorian, true to his word, said nary a peep of the affair to anyone else (well, other than little Lothric, but it was hard to keep a secret from one that literally shared your soul). That did not keep the Elder Prince of Lothric from teasing the god in private about whether or not he had any more ‘secret late night meetings’, which made Gwyndolin scoff and playfully whack Lorian with whatever fabric he had on hand, but he made no further mention of the dress itself. The knight seemed to realize that Gwyndolin was keeping the dress a secret for more than just a ‘surprise’ for the others--that it was deeply personal in a way that he himself didn’t quite understand, but respected all the same. It made Gwyndolin all the more grateful for him.

Though the rest of the royal household ate dinner a few hours before the ball, Gwyndolin excused himself to his quarters to have more time to prepare, swearing to Yorshka upon his honor that he would eat at the party itself. 

Alone in his room--deadbolt locked and sealing runes applied--Gwyndolin finally dug the box out of the closet and set it on the bed. It was difficult to untie the ribbon with his shaking hands, and Gwyndolin found himself hesitating with his hands on the lid, suddenly fearful that the dress wouldn’t be nearly as wonderful as he had remembered. It took a few minutes for the god to muster his nerve and remove the lid, but as soon as he did, the god found that the dress was just as pristine and perfect as it had been during that third fitting. Tears of what felt like joy and relief spilled down his face.

_ Ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous. _ Gwyndolin sniffed and hurriedly dried his face before any tears could fall from his cheeks and stain the satin dress below. _ Crying over a silly nothing like a dress. What a frivolous fool I have become! _Yet the smile refused to leave his face, and as he hurriedly removed the dress from its box and slithered to hang it on the back of his bathroom floor, he could barely withstand the urge to simply throw it on and run to Lorian’s room. Even the snakes seemed beside themselves with anticipation, with some tugging Gwyndolin towards the dress, and others pulling him just as strongly in the direction of the door.

_ Calm thyselves, my slithery feet, for thy host knowest the value of patience. _

To make his point, Gwyndolin was careful to spend as much time on bathing and preparing as necessary, not wanting to rush his usual ‘intimate setting with multiple people for an extended period of time’ routine and regret it later (and, besides, it would not do to look sloppy next to Lorian). Given that the tulle lining of the dress--while reduced--was still somewhat heavy for someone of his constitution, Gwyndolin chose the lightest undergarments in his wardrobe, and he spent a good hour sitting in front of his vanity and trying to decide whether or not he should wear makeup. Everything he put on his face seemed _ wrong _for some reason, and while he had briefly entertained the idea of wearing a blush the same shade of peach as the dress, but he ended up not liking the way it looked on his cheeks. With a scowl, he scrubbed off the blush and washed his face in the basin next to his bed, deciding to do without cosmetics altogether.

_ Yorshka is always telling me that I do not require embellishment _ , Gwyndolin thought, rubbing some cold cream on the now irritated parts of his face (including his cheeks). _ As if a god needs to put on airs for mortals...or a king for their subjects. _

As time went on, his inner voice began to sound more and more like Lorian’s affirmations, and Gwyndolin found that he did not mind the change.

The satin of the dress was cold against Gwyndolin’s bath-warm skin, and he couldn’t hold back a shudder as he finally--_ finally _\--slid his snakes through the dress and pulled it on, his arms and shoulders breaking into goosebumps the moment they made contact with the sleeves. Mercifully, his slip protected his torso and abdomen from the chill of the fabric, and he knew that the rest of his body would adjust soon enough. With gritted teeth, the god ‘sank’ into a kneeling position and used two of his snakes--Tia and Agape--to tighten and tie the ribbons spanning the back of his gown, which they took to with the muscle memory of six-thousand years of dressing their host. Who needed handmaidens when one could simply pre-lace the dress, shimmy it on, and have their slithery ‘feet’ finish the rest? Having outside assistance wasn’t worth the physical strain of applying a glamour every time he wished to change clothes.

Once the back of the dress was tied (with a bit of a sloppy bow, but Lorian could adjust it for him when they met), Gwyndolin rose to his standard height with the air of someone facing a judge, eyes squeezed shut to avoid looking into the mirror before he was ready. Logically, if the dress was beautiful during the fitting--_ before _ it was tailored to his liking--then it was only natural that he would like it even more in its final state, but there was a tiny yet powerful voice in the back of the god’s mind, harkening back from his days as the Dark Sun, that was convinced that _ nothing _ would _ ever _look good on him. 

_ ‘If one would not even put lipstick on a pig’, _ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gwyn and Sulyvahn all at once, ‘ _ then what would be the use of putting it on _ ** _snakes _ ** _ of all things?’ _

Gwyndolin squeezed his eyes shut and fisted his hands in satin and lace.

_ I know mine own eyes, _ the Nameless Moon reminded himself, taking steadying breath after breath. _ Even when Sulyvahn had convinced me I did not, I knew mine own eyes, and I what I saw and thought had been correct. I know that I look well in this dress, and even if some do not think the same...I know that there is at least one person that will agree with me, and that is all that matters. _

With one last sigh, Gwyndolin turned until he was facing the mirror and opened his eyes all at once, bracing himself for the worst. Yet what he found, instead, was someone it took a few moments for him to recognize.

_ Is this...is this _ ** _me_ ** _ ? _

The logical reality was that Gwyndolin did not look much different in the dress than he did at that final fitting. The waist had been taken in ever so slightly, and one last layer of tulle had been stripped out of the lining for the sake of Gwyndolin’s constitution, leaving a skirt with just barely enough support to keep it lightly full. Maybe it was a combination of all of the little changes--or, perhaps, it was the fact that Gwyndolin was wearing the final product on the night of its debut. Whatever the reason, the sight of himself in the dress left the god breathless and dumbstruck, and it wasn’t until his lungs began to ache that he realized he had completely forgotten to breathe.

_ I look… _

Tears had begun coursing down Gwyndolin’s cheeks unbidden, yet there was a smile on his face that he had never seen on himself before, all white teeth, blushing cheeks, and face muscles stretched to aching. His stomach felt as if it was full of millions of tiny, sparkling bubbles, which seemed to spread to the rest of his body as he clapped his hands on his cheeks. He felt as if he wanted to laugh and laugh and never stop, but the overwhelming _ everything _of the moment also made him want to cry, so Gwyndolin did both. He sank into a limp pile on the floor, covered his face with his hands, and began to laugh and sob all at once.

Gwyndolin did not know what he was feeling--not truly--but what he did know was that it was something he liked.

_ I love this dress. _ The reaffirmation of what he had suspected all along made him laugh and cry all the harder, and he tightened his hands around his eyes, not wanting his tears to splash on the dress and stain the satin underneath the lace. The snakes, meanwhile, had reached up from underneath the pile of fancy fabric and wrapped their host in six scaly, soothing hugs. _ This dress is beautiful and I look beautiful in it. Lorian tells me every day that I look beautiful, but I...I look _ ** _beautiful _ ** _ in this dress. I truly _ ** _do._ **

It was not simply the first time in Gwyndolin’s life that he had ever loved an article of clothing; it was the first time he had looked upon himself and--without any outside words or affirmations--truly thought of himself as _ attractive. _

_ Is this how Lorian sees me? Truly? Oh, how _ ** _wonderful_ ** _ ! _

Gwyndolin was not sure how long he had sat there on the floor, laughing and crying while bundled up in satin and snakes, but the sky had fully darkened into nighttime by the time he had finally finished processing everything and felt as if he could function again. As he slowly rose to his normal station (after giving each of his snakes a kiss on the head for good measure), he found he could hear the dim sounds of music and laughter filtering in through his window, and he realized that he must be late. Yet he found he did not care much, and his pace and demeanor were leisurely as he slithered about the room and finished his grooming, which was slowed even further by the fact that he would be seized by giggling whenever he glanced in the mirror.

_ I am the King of the Gods and the Sovereign of the Sunless Realms, which means that I am allowed to be late to my own party, and no one has the right to question my reasons. _ Gwyndolin chuckled as he splashed cold water on his face and patted it dry to avoid further irritating his eyes. _ Besides, if I were truly late, then Lorian would have come in search of my whereabouts. The festivities must have only begun a short time ago. _

Gwyndolin’s eyes were red and puffy from crying, but given that he would be wearing either a crown or a hooded cloak for the festivities, it was an issue that only those that would be seeing his face would notice. He simply used cold water to tamp down what he could of the redness, combed out his hair, and grabbed the cape that the dressmaker had made from what was left of the peach-colored satin. He had briefly debated wearing shoes, but decided against it at the last minute, not wanting to sour his new and wonderful feelings with aching false feet.

Just as Gwyndolin finished applying his glamour of false legs, there was a tentative knock at the door, and the silly smile he had been wearing since first looking in the mirror wilted into one that was nervous and demure.

“ Who is it?”

“ Ah, Gwyndolin? It’s me.” There was a pause and a familiar cough. “ Are you...are you alright now?”

Gwyndolin, his hands planted on the sides of his bed, froze in the middle of getting up. “ Why would I not be?” A memory of their conversation just a week before allowed gave the god the answer before Lorian could even speak. “ Didst...didst thou come looking for me earlier?” _ And, consequently, overhear mine ‘episode’? _

A few seconds of mutually-embarrassed silence passed between them.

“...yes.” Lorian admitted, and Gwyndolin could practically _ hear _ him blushing on the other side of his bedroom door. “ An hour ago, I believe. I would have knocked but...but you sounded so _ happy _, Gwyndolin, and I did not wish to interrupt or intrude upon your happiness. Was...was I mistaken? A-are you happy, Gwyndolin?”

Tears once more filled the corners of Gwyndolin’s eyes, and his smile widened once more into a grin, though he was sure it looked far more besotted than before. Between the sweet dress and his even sweeter beloved, the Nameless Moon was sure he would be well and dehydrated by the end of the night.

“ Oh, _ yes _ , dearest Lorian. _ Yes. _ Let me show thee why!” Gwyndolin used the corner of his bedspread to clean off his eyes and stood, practically dashing over to the door in his haste to release the sealing runes and unlock the deadbolt. “ The door is unlocked, but prithee, do not enter until I say thou canst!”

“ Ah! Yes! Okay!” The sound of boot heels clicking against stone followed Lorian’s statement, and Gwyndolin could envision him standing at knightly attention in the hallway, back straight and arms flat against his sides. “ I take it you are pleased with your dress, then?”

“ _ Very _ pleased.” Gwyndolin moved to stand in the center of his bedroom where the light was best. He linked his hands behind his back, took a deep breath, and nodded to himself. “ Alright, thou mayst enter.”

Gwyndolin ducked his head and swallowed back the snicker that formed at the sound of Lorian fumbling with the handle in his nervousness. The door swung open, and Gwyndolin kept his face facing the ground as he heard Lorian enter, screwing his eyes shut and holding his breath.

Lorian’s footsteps stopped halfway to the bed. Gwyndolin heard a sharp intake of air and then _ nothing. _There was silence, and then silence, and then silence, and then…

“...Lorian?” Gwyndolin’s question was weak and wavering in a way it hadn’t been in months, and he fisted his hands in the skirt of his dress when there was no immediate answer, wanting to melt into the floor or phase out of existence. “ Lorian, dost thou...dost thou like...surely I cannot be _ that _hideous, can I?”

The attempted joke was ruined by the crack in Gwyndolin’s voice, and the god was suddenly grateful that he seemed to have lost the ability to move his fake legs, or else he would have immediately run and locked himself in the bathroom. _ Just say something, Lorian, I beg of thee. I know words are hard for thee, especially in mine presence, but I am drowning in the quiet. _

As if he had heard Gwyndolin’s unconscious please, Lorian suddenly sprung into life, walking forward until he was just a meter or so away from him. The Nameless Moon neither opened his eyes nor looked up.

Then--

“ I...I keep trying to think of a word that is greater than _ beautiful _ ,” Lorian spoke in the awe-struck tone of one who had just witnessed a miracle they could scarce believe, “but I cannot recall such a word in any language that I know. Gwyndolin, you are... _ beyond description. _”

Something popped and cracked in Gwyndolin’s chest, and the last True God in the Lordran _ flung _ himself into Lorian’s arms, pressing his face into what seemed to be an ivory-colored tunic as he laughed and laughed and _ laughed. _ Lorian froze for a moment--briefly confused--but then he began to laugh that loud, loving, booming laugh that Gwyndolin so adored. He wrapped his arms around the god and _ pulled _, and Gwyndolin squealed in delighted surprise as he found himself being lifted into the air, wrapping his arms around Lorian’s shoulders and holding on tight as he was spun around and around. A small part of him hoped that he would never touch the ground again.

Sadly, Lorian did eventually have to set Gwyndolin down, but the god only pouted for a moment before he was greatly distracted by the other man in general.

“ Thou art lovely, dear Lorian--in spirit _ and _ in form.” Gwyndolin murmured, his grin softening into something secret as he reached up, cupping Lorian’s face in his hands and thumbing his impressive cheekbones. “ As much as I enjoy thine armour, I must admit that it has been some time since I have seen thee in formal wear, and thou art quite _ beyond description _ thyself. Perhaps thou hast emerged from a pleasant dream from which I never hope to awaken.”

Lorian flushed as red as the whites of Gwyndolin’s eyes, but his smile was glowing all the same, and he placed his hands over Gwyndolin’s own. “ Ah, well...I would have worn the outfit from my debut again, for I remember how much you liked it on me, but...I did not wish to trigger any bad memories. So I had a new outfit commissioned at the last minute.”

A shiver ran up Gwyndolin’s spine. “ There would also be _ good _ memories, I assure thee...but perhaps it is for the best to exercise prudence...especially in the face of such a familiar scenario.” He laced his fingers with Lorian’s own and dropped their hands so that they were linked between their bodies. “ That being said, I do not believe that thine outfit is any lesser than thine other, for thou art absolutely _ resplendent _ in ivory.”

“ And you say_ I _am a demon with my compliments.” Lorian muttered as he ducked his head. Gwyndolin laughed lightly and gave his calloused fingers a fond squeeze.

Lorian’s last formal outfit (the one he had worn for the ball celebrating his position as Lord Commander--a night that was simultaneously one of the best _ and _ worst of Gwyndolin’s life) consisted of black leggings, tall black leather boots, and a long-sleeved white tunic hidden underneath a long, royal blue military coat, fastened with shining brass buttons and trimmed with gold brocade. The outfit before him, while different in color and detail, was stylistically much the same as the first. The black leather boots had been switched with brown, the black pants with tan, and the white tunic with one that--from what Gwyndolin could tell from the collar and the edges of the cuffs--was a _ suspiciously _ familiar shade of peach. The long jacket--almost exactly identical in cut to the first--was sewn from a thick yet soft cotton dyed a creamy ivory, secured with silver buttons and trimmed with--

\--with peach brocade.

“ Lorian, dearest,” Gwyndolin asked with a faintly tremulous voice, “am I being presumptuous in assuming that thine outfit pairing so well with my dress is not the result of simple happenstance?”

Lorian, somehow, blushed even redder than before.

“ I may or may not have enlisted Wolf’s help in locating the tailor that designed your dress,” he murmured, “and may I--_ I may _ or may not have asked her to design an outfit that would complement yours.” He licked his lips, smacked them a few times, and continued. “ I was serious, dearest Gwyndolin, when I said that I did not wish to detract from your radiance in front of the governors...but I swear to thee that I only looked at this outfit wh-when I unwrapped it for tonight. I swear on my honor as a knight and an elder brother.”

Gwyndolin had cried so much already that he had assumed he had no more tears to give, yet Lorian’s words made them fall from his eyes nonetheless, and he buried his face in Lorian’s coat in a vain attempt to hide them from his gaze.

“ Oh, Gwyndolin,” Lorian breathed, wrapping his arms around the god’s back. “ Forgive me if I have gone too far. I shall go and change into something else if you--”

“ These are not unhappy tears, my stalwart.” Gwyndolin sniffled and pressed his wet smile into the center of Lorian’s chest. “ In fact, when I first saw mineself in this dress, I truly thought that it was impossible for me to feel happier than I was in that moment. Yet thou simply crossest through mine threshold and...and…” He wrapped his arms around Lorian and squeezed. “ Oh, Lorian, thou makest me so happy that I can barely think from it all!”

A single barking laugh burst through Lorian’s lips, and he bent over until his forehead was resting on the crown of Gwyndoiln’s head, his ponytail spilling over the god’s shoulder at the action.

“ If it is anywhere near the happiness that you have given me,” Lorian rasped, “ then I consider it a more than fair trade.” 

Gwyndolin felt dampness seeping into his hair and tightened his embrace. At least he would not be the only one self-conscious about red eyes.

The two of them were already hideously late for the proceedings, yet Gwyndolin found himself uncaring, lulled into a daze by the warmth of the gas lights and the soothing safety of Lorian’s embrace. As the sounds from the ballroom grew louder, the pair began to sway in time to the music, and Gwyndolin turned his head so that his cheek was resting on Lorian’s sternum.

“ We should go,” Gwyndolin whispered, even as their swaying began to shift into proper steps. Lorian shook his head and straightened his neck to full height.

“ Just one dance, prithee.” Lorian shifted his left hand to rest on the dip of Gwyndolin’s back and his right to grasp Gwyndolin’s left and draw it forward. “ Before you cover your face for the crowd. I did not get a chance to see your face when we danced that first time, and I wish to look upon you...just like this. Just for a little while longer.”

Even if Gwyndolin had not wanted the exact same thing, it would have been impossible for him to refuse such an earnest request, so he pulled his head off of Lorian’s chest and smiled up at his beloved.

“ Nothing would please me more.” Gwyndolin placed his free hand on Lorian’s shoulder and drew their conjoined hands out to the side in a proper stance. “ But what of the children? Surely they shall be wondering where we are…”

“ When I last left them, they were busy introducing Yhorm and Siegward to the governors, so I assume they shall not miss us overly much.” Lorian snickered at the memory and pulled Gwyndolin just a bit closer with the hand on his hip. “ Besides, it is not as if Lothric cannot find and speak to me if he is truly worried, and he is not one to misbehave at public events.”

“ Perhaps he shall be a calming influence on Yorshka, then. Remind me to tell thee of the Great Ice Sculpture Calamity that occurred during the governor’s ball of her seventh year.”

“ I shall await with bated breath.”

As the two spoke, their uncertain steps slowly shifted into those of a waltz, and soon they were gracefully twirling about the small open space in the center of the bedroom. The music from outside the window swelled, cresting and troughing like ocean waves in the moonlight, and Gwyndolin let his head fall onto Lorian’s left shoulder.

“ Was it a good surprise?” Gwyndolin asked and immediately felt foolish for doing so. Lorian simply chuckled, however, and let his lips fall on the crown of Gwyndolin’s head. 

“ An absolutely marvelous one...though it makes me grateful for my earlier prying, for I had been any more awestruck upon seeing you, I may well have fallen to the floor!”

Rather than replying with his usual faux vitriol, Gwyndolin simply snorted and let his eyes slip shut, allowing himself to sink fully into a tranquility so deep and balmy that it felt like a dream. 

They danced, bare false feet and brown leather boots seeming to glide rather than step across the floor, and Gwyndolin’s heart skipped a beat whenever he felt the hem of his dress swish against the bottoms of his ankles. Lorian’s hand was a firm yet tender pressure on his hip, and when the knight turned his head to rest his right cheek on the top of Gwyndolin’s head, the god worried that he would melt from all of the love in his heart.

_ Yes. _ ** _ Love_ ** _ . I love this dress, I love Lorian, and--for the first time in my life--I believe I truly love myself. _

Gwyndolin’s body felt as if it was brimming with stars; and for one blissful moment, he felt as if he was perfect.


End file.
